Free The Deadly Neighbors (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) by Mery Jones Page B

arm.
    Bertram eyed me cautiously as he pushed an elevator button. “Zoe, you know, for women your age, pregnancy can be complicated.”
    Did he think I was brain-dead? In the past four months, I’d read about a million books and articles on middle age and pregnancy.
    He held up his memo. “Stress like this can’t help.”
    I agreed. No, it couldn’t.
    “Well, you don’t have to be passive, you know. There are things to do about it.”
    Like what? Was he going to suggest unionizing? Going on strike? I pictured the Institute staff, a bunch of therapists and shrinks marching down Market Street carrying placards, chanting slogans. “Don’t shrink our staff.” Or “We’re crazy about our patients.”
    He looked at his watch. “Tell me. When’s your first session?”
    I had about half an hour.
    “Perfect. Let’s stop at my office and talk.” Bertram held on to my arm and led me into the elevator, insisting. I assumed that he wanted to discuss the memo, what steps we could take to protect our jobs. Before I knew it, I was in his office, seated in a plush leather chair, realizing that I’d been absolutely, completely wrong.

F OURTEEN
    “H YPNOSIS?” I WAS SKEPTICAL.
    “Basically, it’s controlled, extreme relaxation. It’s not magic. But it can help reduce stress and possibly decrease your episodes of dizziness.”
    I shook my head. “Thanks, Bertram. I don’t think so.”
    “May I ask why?”
    I smiled. “Frankly, I doubt I can be hypnotized.”
    Bertram nodded knowingly. His massive ego had undoubtedly convinced him that he could hypnotize anyone. “Well, it’s up to you, of course. But think about it. If it doesn’t work, what have you lost?”
    Nothing. He was probably right. Still, I was reluctant. I looked around his office, noted the expensive furnishings. Bertram sat on a modern designer leather desk chair designed to protect the spine, beside an elaborate antique escritoire which seemed to match a towering mahogany grandfather clock. The walls between bookshelves were papered with original art—including a Calder and an Eakins—and dozens of certificates, awards, framed degrees. Bertram’s office, like his wardrobe, was eclectic, uncoordinated. But everything in it, individually, was high-end. Expensive. Papers, books, files and journals were stacked neatly on a table beside a sleek computer screen, yet Post-it notes were stuck almost everywhere, dotting surfaces like blemishes, inconsistent with the expensive furnishings.
    “So? It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
    I shifted on the upholstered leather cushion. “What’s involved, exactly? Do I watch a swinging pendulum?”
    “No, no. It’s pretty informal. First, I’d have you relax. If we were to try it, I might have you breathe evenly, from your diaphragm. Here. Like this.” He pointed to his midsection, demonstrating.
    I began to breathe deeply, following his lead.
    “Then I’d ask you to think of a place where you feel perfectly safe. A place where you feel completely at peace.”
    My mind traveled. I pictured a lake in New Hampshire, surrounded by green mountains. Cold, calm water beneath a blue sky. A lone cloud drifting overhead. I was floating, lying back on an inflated raft.
    “Then, while you envision yourself in that place, still breathing deeply, I’d suggest that you relax your body, limb by limb, muscle by muscle, beginning with your toes, working your way along your feet, your heels, your ankles, your calves. Relaxing each muscle, one at a time, slowly, up to your knees, your thighs, your hips and your pelvis.”
    Bertram’s voice was soothing, guiding me through steps, but the idea was ridiculous. I was wary of his suggestions and techniques, of everything he said. Despite Bertram’s good intentions, there was no way he could hypnotize me. It was time to go. I had to get to work.
    “Thanks anyway, Bertram. I’m not sure this hypnosis stuff is for me; I doubt it would work on me.”
    He smiled again in his smug,